by L V Chase
“Cin, if you thought I saw you that way, you wouldn’t let me touch you,” he says. “You know it’s not true.”
“Tell me what the fuck is wrong with you, then.”
“I can’t explain it to you.”
He slowly pulls his hand out from under mine. He wipes a stray water droplet off my calf. I grab him by the jaw, the same way he did when we had sex in the studio.
“That’s not good enough,” I say.
He slowly takes my hand, pulling each finger off from his jaw. He gives my fingers a gentle squeeze. He searches my face.
“What are you going to do about it, Cin?” he asks. “What could you possibly do to me that would hurt me?”
I throw the frozen tortellini at his face. He catches it as it falls down. I slide off the table, gritting my teeth to stop myself from wincing.
“Cin, at least let me get you some ibuprofen,” he says.
“Fuck off.”
I lurch toward the door. He grabs onto my arm. He tries to pick me up. I strike him across the face. He still manages to pick me up.
“Let me take you back to your dorm building,” he says. “You left your bag in the studio, which I’m assuming has your key. I have a master key to all of the buildings. I’ll drop you off at the door and give you the key. It’ll unlock your building and your room. After that, you can scream and hit me as much you want.”
“We’ll be out there all night,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Fair enough.”
He takes us outside. The cold air doesn’t feel as nice now. As he walks, I keep my chin tucked down, staring at my hands resting on my abdomen. My mother told me that my pride was useless. Maybe it is. Maybe I shouldn’t fight so hard when Grayson is acting kind.
But, also, maybe my mother and Grayson can shove it up their ass.
Grayson stops in front of my dorm. He lowers me to my feet and takes a step back, his hands shoved in his pockets. He waits.
“I don’t have the energy to attack you,” I say. “So, you can just leave.”
He runs his hand through his hair, which is darker than the night around us.
“I can’t stop hurting you,” he says. “So, you need to learn how to deal with it. Just get your knee checked out tomorrow if you’re still experiencing as much pain as you feel now. Take any painkillers if you have them. I know you hate me, but I won’t know if you do it or not. Do it for your own benefit.”
He hands me his master key. I snatch it from him.
“I’ll get your bag and have it sent to your room in the morning,” he says.
I hobble up to the doors, unlocking them. I yank them open.
“Good night, Cin,” he says, taking a couple of steps backwards before turning around and walking away.
I lumber to my room, unlocking it. I sit down in front of the door. I turn the master key around in my hand. This is how he got into the room the night that Diana attacked me.
I get back up. I open one of the kitchen drawers and find my bottle of ibuprofen. I pop two into my mouth. They’re bitter pills to swallow, but I can only hope they’ll lessen the pain in the end.
16
Grayson
It's finally here. The damn talent show everyone's been going crazy over for the last few weeks. The show starts in fifteen minutes or so. Everyone who's participating is back here in the prep room behind the stage. I can hear someone talking and background music playing out in front. The auditorium's filling up, too, last time I checked.
The stage itself is large enough to hold a full orchestra or a Broadway production. The prep room is a quarter of that, still roomy enough for everyone to be here at once. There are small cubicles and shelves stuffed with assorted leftovers from previous shows, hangers with costumes and props, and, of course, mirrors. Harsh industrial lights hang from overhead. It's not like in the movies where the star girl powders up at a set all to herself. Half the girls here are vying for mirror space as they try to touch up one last stray bit of hair or makeup. Some boys, too. There's lots of legs, cleavage, bodies on full display. I can't tell if some of them are prepping for a strip show or a talent show.
It's all bullshit.
Hayden keeps glancing into the mirror and fidgeting with his hair. He pulls at his midnight blue shirt, tugging at the collar. He combs his fingers through his hair another time, then scratches a spot on his head, messing up his hair.
I walk over to him and slap him lightly on the back. "Relax. You'll do fine."
I trade meaningless words with him, but I'm barely paying attention to what I'm saying. The scholarship girls are on the opposite side of the prep room fussing over themselves. I try not to make it obvious, but I can't help but keep an eye on Cin.
She's in a simple but elegant dress that's the color of dark gold, unlike the rest of the scholarship girls who are in the same white dresses with pink heels, a gift from Damian, I’d heard. That gives me a small sense of satisfaction.
The flowing fabric of Cin’s dress accentuates the curves of her figure but without showing trashy amounts of skin like the others. It’s not just her clothes that set her apart. Cin's standing near the others, but their body language makes it clear that she’s not one of them. And why should she be? She's miles above them; that's obvious to anyone who sees her.
I think she looks over at me once, but it's hard to say with the small crowd milling about back here. Seeing her alone, despite being surrounded by all these people, kills me, though. I want to walk over, hold her, tell her that everything will be all right. But I'm stuck here babysitting Hayden-fucking-Crocker.
Cin's head swivels as something catches her attention. Not something. Someone.
Damian makes his way through the crowd to reach Cin. He's in a dark blue sports jacket, gray pants, gliding casually across the room. The fuck is he doing here? He's not involved in the show at all. He doesn't know shit about dancing, art, or anything remotely related to talent. Cin and Damian exchange words, and then he reaches out and hugs her. She wraps her arms around him, too.
"Uh, Grayson?" Hayden prods.
"What?" I snap back at him a little too harshly.
Hayden's eyes widen in surprise or fear for a second, but I reach out and give his shoulder a squeeze. "Don't overthink it. You've done all the work already. You've got this."
But I'm still watching Cin and Damian. They're not hugging anymore, but Damian keeps touching Cin's side, the one with stitches. Fucking idiot. Cin doesn't move away from him, either.
Hayden lets out a small yelp. I realize that my hand's still on his shoulder, and I just gave it another hard squeeze. I smile at Hayden as I remove my hand, forcing myself to rip my eyes away from the other two. It's taking everything I have not to walk over to the other side of the prep room and tear Damian off of Cin. Just the thought of him touching Cin sends a shiver of rage through my spine.
"You good?" I ask Hayden.
He nods tentatively. "Yeah, yeah I'm good."
I try looking away from Cin to calm myself, but there are damn mirrors everywhere. I see Cin and Damian in the reflection of one mirror, then another. He leans over and kisses her on the cheek. She doesn't lean in or return the kiss, but she doesn't look like she minds. Damian leaves. For a minute, I stare at the mirror, ignoring everything else. I want Cin to see my fury, to see what she's going to reap, but she doesn't look over at me.
"Hey, Grayson. You going to watch the show?" A brunette in a purple dress tries to talk to me, but I just glower at her. She's accompanied by a group of friends, but they get the message. They quickly leave me alone. Hayden just glances at me, looking more nervous than ever.
Suddenly, Cin runs out of the prep room. I nod to Hayden one last time, then quickly leave. I want to see her, talk to her, be with her. Even for a moment, if that's all that we can find for now. When I exit the prep room, I catch a glimpse of Cin going down the hallway to the left before she rounds the corner. She's heading to the bathroom, I assume.
I
slip into the women's bathroom, ready to leave if she's not there, but my guess is right. She's at the sink facing the mirror when I step inside. She sees me in the reflection but doesn't respond, instead waving her hands under the faucet to trigger a stream of water. I wait for a few seconds, but it seems like she's dead set on ignoring me.
No one ignores me. After seeing the way she acts with Damian, I'm tempted to come up behind her and give her what I know she really wants. I hold myself back, though, and wait a little longer.
"How's the knee?" I finally ask.
Cin lowers her hands. The flow of water stops. She glares at me in the reflection.
"Fine, not that you'd care," she replies.
"Of course I care. That's why I asked."
She spins around, the hem of her skirt twirling in a golden flash. She leans backwards against the sink, her arms crossed in front of her. She lifts her head slightly. Her hair's braided and put up in a kind of crown. Her lips are gleaming red under the bathroom light, the dark eye shadow giving her eyes an extra-large, smoldering vibe. She looks like a damn queen.
I lick my own lips as I trace the contours of her body underneath the thin fabric. I could tear it off in a second. She meets my eyes, swallows uncomfortably, and lowers her head to the side.
"Why do you have to do that?" she asks.
I raise an eyebrow. "Do what?"
Cin waves a hand at me. "That. Act nice. Pretend you care." She meets my eyes again, this time frowning. "So, what's it going to be once we get out there again? Dump a glass of purple soda on my dress? How about stealing my art supplies? Or parade a bunch of fake nude photos of me? Maybe you'll just heckle me when I'm up on stage. Wouldn't that be a relief."
"Cin. Don't be like that—"
"Well, what am I supposed to think? All you do is shit after shit, then give me a moment's hope that there's actually something between us..." She trails off for a second. "Then, the next fucking episode of Grayson the mega-asshole shows up. What's wrong with you? Seriously, do you have any idea how fucked up—"
"Okay, you want to talk about this?" My jaw tightens. I get that she doesn't know everything. I get that she doesn't understand, but there's plenty that she should know and should understand.
Cin makes a face. "I don't know. What's the point?"
"Fine. Let's talk about what your mother did to me since you seem to be forgetting. She tried to fuck me over, exactly like she fucked your boy toy Damian over. Remember that?"
"I told you. I had nothing to do it with that. Besides, that's different."
"Different?" I ask. "Yeah, it's different. I didn't bail like that shithead. I didn't run off like a fucking pussy."
"No. It's different because Damian was innocent. He was an innocent victim caught up in my mother's shit."
I just stare. I can't believe that Cin thinks Damian is some innocent angel. I mean, I'm not a saint, either, but Damian? Damian from Writing on the Wall? Hell, he's mixed up in so much bullshit, and Cin thinks he's some model citizen. Not that I can tell her everything. Because even if I didn't kill Diana, I was involved, and god knows what kind of conclusions Cin's going to draw. Never mind that I did it all for her. That I'd do it all again if it kept her safe and away from Brady.
But if I keep her safe from Brady only to let her end up with Damian...no, that's bullshit, too. I'm not letting that happen.
"Amazing." Cin says. "I managed to shut up the great Grayson Voss. That's how I know I'm right."
No, Cin. You're so fucking wrong you wouldn't believe me. I can't tell her everything, though. I just shake my head.
"Damian's not so innocent," I say. "Not even close. Don't fall for his act."
"His act? You mean his whole not-be-a-fucking-asshole act? The one that you seem terrible at?" Cin's green eyes are brimming with fire now.
"Cin. Can't you trust me?"
Cin doesn't say anything immediately. "Tell me, then. What's Damian done? What's so bad about him?"
I know I can't tell her, not about Dad's projects, not about Brady, not about Diana, not about how Cin was supposed to be the one. She'd never forgive me. She's not like me, not like Damian, not like the other girls, or even her mother. She's so damn hard on the outside, but I know who she is. She's better than us. No, it's better that I shield her from the world's bullshit. She's already had more than she deserves.
"I can't tell you." I reply. "Just trust me. Please, Cin."
Cin makes an exasperated sound. "You tell me to trust you, but can't you trust me? Why can't you tell me what's going on?"
I step closer to her, holding her gently by the sides of her arms. "I do. I trust you to be good, too good for all this. Cin, it'll only hurt you."
"More than you're doing now?" Cin whispers.
Her words rip at my gut. I can't hold myself back any longer. I take her head in my hands and bend down to kiss her. I find her sweet mouth, taste her hot breaths, run my tongue along the contours of her lips. She presses hard into my mouth, and her nails dig into my back. I drop one hand to reach inside the front of her dress. She has some kind of tape over her nipple, but it doesn't matter. I massage her breast with one hand as the other caresses her hair.
Before I know what I'm doing, I've lifted Cin up and onto the sink. I lean forward with my body, pushing up her dress and forcing her slim thighs apart.
"Grayson," Cin manages to mumble, but then I kiss her again and her words dissolve into heavy panting.
"Trust me," I whisper back to her in between breaths.
I push the dress up further until I can see her the black-lace panties she's wearing. I reach down and massage the crotch, my finger swirling in slow, gentle circles. She pants harder into my mouth, growling almost, and my fingers press into her. I can feel the wetness through the fabric stretched across my fingers.
I want her. She wants me. Fuck the talent show. I don't care if anyone walks in on us, if the whole world knows. I push her underwear to the side, the tantalizing fragrance of her wetness strong and fresh.
She wants this, too. Her hands reach for my belt buckle.
"Afterwards," she pants between breaths. "You have to tell me everything."
"No." My tongue fights with hers. "It has to be like this."
Cin's unbuckled my belt, and she's halfway done unzipping me, but her hands pause. She breaks the kiss, about to say something, but I slip a finger inside her, and she gasps instead.
A sharp rap at the outer bathroom door interrupts us. We both freeze.
"Cinnamon?" a man's voice calls out. "You in there?"
Cin's eyes widen. We separate. I buckle my belt while Cin hurries to smooth out her clothes.
"Yeah, here!" Cin shouts. "Give me a second!" She whispers to me. "I think it's Ollie."
Ollie's the announcer for the talent show. Makes sense that he's rounding up the performers.
"You have two minutes." Ollie says from outside the bathroom. "I need y'all scholarship students ready up front."
"Cin—" I begin.
"Not now," she says. Cin shakes her head and leaves the bathroom.
17
Cin
The lights dim. Dahlia, Demi, Desiree, and I find our places on the stage. My big-ass easel with my big-ass drawing paper and my average-ass paint jars are behind me. They’re my security blanket right now, because this dance is enough to make me pray for Hell to open up and swallow me. I still wouldn’t mind if it did. I managed to get away not looking like a stripper with my own dress, but I still have to dance.
A slow sultry R&B beat starts to play. A spotlight hits Dahlia. A smile bursts onto her face. After she sings her first line about bumping and grinding, three more spotlights hit the rest of us, and we replicate her lyrics. Behind us, a projection screen displays sensual images of a woman’s body and a man’s hand gliding over it. I’d thought that the school would censor it, but they didn’t.
Wolf whistles and cat-calling barrage the stage. The DDD girls flourish under it, grinning and winking at audience member
s. I try to match their upbeat spirit, but my ass feels like it’s about to fall out of my dress, my knee is killing me, and my stitches stretch. But I swallow the pain down. Walking through the fire isn’t so bad when you’ve done it all your life.
But with Grayson, it’s more than fire, and I’m not just walking in it. I’m dancing in it. I’m fucking in it. I’m more alive than I’ve ever been in it.
I miss a step. Dahlia is belting her lyrics, but Demi and Desiree notice. Their grins flip into a scowl before they return to their trophy wife smiles. In the glow of the projection screen behind us, they look downright demonic.
I shouldn’t have thought of Grayson. He’s always a mistake.
Demi, Desiree, and I follow Desiree’s choreography, bumping, grinding, thrusting our hips, and twerking. My knee pain worsens, but it doesn’t matter. I’m counting down the seconds until I can paint.
“Shake that ass!”
“Hoes and the pussycats!”
“Our families pay for those charity tits!”
I grit my teeth. I can’t see any of the teachers or faculty, but I know they’ll act like they didn’t hear a thing. These kids have lawyers on speed dial, and the parents have enough connections to blackball anyone who makes less than seven figures.
When Dahlia starts to moan into the microphone, signaling the beginning of the bridge, Demi and Desiree move towards the front with her while I retreat to my art pad. The screen behind us clicks as it changes its focus from the girls to the canvas so that the painting can be seen by the whole crowd.
I exhale as the bridge of the song starts. I dip the paintbrush into the yellow paint jar and curve it over the canvas.
The texture is wrong.
I dip into the paint jar again, trying to get the paint to transform into blonde hair. But the consistency is wrong. It’s too thin. It’s dripping down the canvas.
As I add more yellow paint, I smell it. It doesn’t smell like paint.
It’s mustard.
I could almost laugh at the banality of it. They tried their best to humiliate me and it still fell short of the DDD girls’ highest ambitions of spectacle. How is swapping yellow paint for mustard ever going to be worse than pretending like my best talent is acting like a desperate stripper?